


Courtship of the Papermen

by nekosmuse_archive (nekosmuse)



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive
Summary: Written pre 2005. Posting for archival purposes.In his mind, he's watched Danny die a thousand times.
Relationships: Martin Fitzgerald/Danny Taylor
Kudos: 7





	Courtship of the Papermen

He's long since given up on trying to follow the conversation.

Long since given up on everything except the drink in front of him, empty now, save for two whiskey-soaked ice cubes and Martin tips his drink back, sucking an ice cube into his mouth to let it melt on his tongue.

He wants another.

Several, actually, because the two he's had aren't quite working and, more than anything, Martin wants to be drunk.

Wants to be completely inebriated and that should probably worry him. Because he's not much of a drinker; never has been and he's not entirely sure why tonight is so different. And okay, that's not entirely true. He knows exactly why tonight is different. Exactly why he wants the numbness that comes with too much alcohol because, after everything that's gone down today, alcohol is pretty much the only thing that's going to guarantee him a good night's sleep.

That or sex, but Martin highly doubts the latter is going to happen.

Not after the last time an outing with his co-workers ended in sex and Martin's still dealing with the backlash from that incident.

Still dealing with the awkwardness that seems to permanently follow him around these days and the last thing Martin wants is a repeat of the last year. Even now, after spending almost an hour at the same table, Sam hasn't once looked in his direction. Hasn't even glanced over to notice that Martin is trying very hard to make himself invisible.

Trying very hard to disappear and Martin briefly considers sliding under the table.

It's almost amusing that, this time, Sam isn't the co-worker he wants to go home with.

"So then the guy jumps out at us, firing off two shots…"

Danny, on the other hand…

Is watching him. Staring at Martin from across the table, despite the fact that he's right in the middle of retelling the story of their near brush with death (the sixth one that Martin can count in the past year alone and he's starting to think a career change might be in order). Staring like Martin's the only person in the room and Martin can't decide whether he likes it.

It takes all of Martin's energy not to shy away from the intensity he sees in Danny's eyes every time he glances up long enough to make eye contact. Most of the time he forces himself to stare at Danny's hands instead, watching Danny's frantic gesturing like Danny can tell a story with actions alone.

Martin's not so sure he can't.

It makes him wonder just what else Danny's body is saying and, once again, Martin forgets about those dark, weighing eyes and glances up. Danny's still watching him, expression unreadable and Martin shivers, finding himself unable to look away.

It's almost like Danny's waiting for Martin's reaction. Waiting for Martin to throw in his own two cents because he was there, right in the middle of it and it's not like Martin to remain silent during the telling of a story.

Or maybe Danny's just worried about the vast quantities of alcohol Martin seems bent on ingesting tonight.

Or maybe it's something else entirely and Martin doesn't let himself think about that for long.

Besides, the second option seems a hell of a lot more probable, because Danny is a recovered alcoholic, so it is understandable that he'd be sensitive to the issue.

The thought almost makes Martin laugh, because revelations have never been his strong point and, for some reason he can't quite explain, Martin rather likes that Danny might be worried about him.

He doesn't, mostly because he doesn't really want to interrupt Danny's story, but also because he doesn't want anyone else to glance over and look at him. He likes the fact that Danny's the only person currently watching his slow descent away from sobriety.

He wonders if that makes him an asshole, or just a jerk.

Not that it matters, because Danny's voice trails off, the story done and now everyone is watching him, waiting to see just what he thinks of the entire ordeal and Martin does the only thing he can think of.

He stands.

Pushes back from the table and mutters something about getting another drink before walking away, the feel of eyes following him so strong that he has to fight not to twitch under their scrutiny.

He makes it as far as the bar before the day (or maybe it's the whiskey; he can't really tell anymore) hits him, his legs buckling and Martin catches himself just in time, leaning hard against the bronze rail in front of him before ordering another drink. His body might be numb, but his mind's still working just fine and that won't do at all.

It's crowded at the bar, people pressing into him from all sides and usually the lack of personal space would make Martin slightly claustrophobic. Today it doesn't and Martin actually finds himself relishing the feel of heat rolling off the other customers. It shifts as people come and go, disappearing along with the echoes of half conversations, only to be replaced by new warmth, new words and Martin closes his eyes against the intensity of it all.

"You might want to consider slowing down," someone says beside him, voice low in his ear and Martin shivers before realizing that Danny has followed him up to the bar.

Shivers again when Danny leans beside him, looking completely calm and collected and Martin finds himself wondering if Danny learnt that particular trick in one of his AA meetings.

"I'm fine," he says, the words automatic now because he's been saying them all day.

First to Danny and then to Jack, later to Van Doren and then the rest of the team in turn, everyone wanting to check for themselves because, obviously, seeing him alive wasn't good enough.

"Right," Danny answers, smirking now, looking like he doesn't believe a word Martin's saying and Martin can't even blame him.

"Danny, I'm…" he gets out before Danny raises his hands in mock surrender, backing away like he's done his duty by saying something but doesn't actually care if Martin wakes up tomorrow morning in an alley.

Martin wonders if he should be pissed by Danny's lack of concern.

He doesn't have time to process the thought, though, the bartender sliding a glass in front of him, waiting for Martin's fistful of ones and it takes all of Martin's concentration to hand them over.

He doesn't bother waiting for change, instead grabbing his glass, condensation bleeding down the sides, making it slippery in his hands and by the time Martin makes it back to the table he's almost dropped it twice.

He feels more than hears himself breathe a sigh of relief when he finally sets it down on the table, the tension between his shoulder blades dissipating somewhat when he finally slides back into his chair.

He hasn't been sitting more than half a minute when Vivian stands, saying something about heading home. It's the first time she's actually stayed late since her surgery and Martin's surprised she's lasted this long. She looks, more than anything, exhausted.

Later, he won't be able to remember if he bothered saying goodbye. He watches her go, though, disappearing into the crowd as she heads for the door and when Martin turns back to the group, he's met with Sam and Jack's stares, the moment once again awkward and Martin blinks before realizing it's just the three of them.

"Where's Danny?" he asks, not missing the look that passes between them.

"He left. He looked kind of pissed," Sam explains, faking a yawn the second the words leave her lips and Martin knows what's coming.

This time he doesn't bother suppressing a laugh.

It's dark and bitter and Martin shakes his head before speaking.

"You guys don't have to stay. It's late," he finally answers, fingers curling around the damp glass in front of him.

He knows Sam's saying something, probably asking him if he's sure and Martin nods, not actually hearing anything she's said. He's too busy wondering exactly why Danny's pissed and Martin's fairly certain it has something to do with their exchange at the bar.

And he's fairly certain Danny's being unreasonable, but it still bothers him more than it should. So much so that Martin finds himself re-running the conversation over and over again in his head, searching for anything that might have led to Danny leaving and by the time he's done, he finds himself alone, still without an answer.

He doesn't bother questioning Danny's reaction a second time, instead pushing aside his untouched whiskey, ignoring the impulse to finish it and maybe head to the bar for another, before heading toward the door.

So much for getting drunk, or laid.

~*~

Danny doesn't say anything when he gets back to the table, just nods vaguely before grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair, sliding into it before heading across the room, very pointedly not glancing back at the bar.

He's not even sure why he's pissed, because he doesn't have a right to be. It's not like Martin's the one with the alcohol problem, and even if he was, it's hardly Danny's business what he does in his off time. If Martin wants to get shit-faced drunk, that's Martin's problem, not his.

Except, apparently, it is, because Danny is pissed. More than pissed; he's livid and he still can't pinpoint why.

And that's a lie, because he knows exactly why he's upset. It has nothing to do with the fact that Martin's drinking (it's certainly not the first time the team has gone out for drinks and he's left the only sober person in the crowd) and everything to do with the reason Martin's drinking.

It still doesn't give him the right, because who cares if Martin's still hung up on Sam. Who cares if he's not dealing well with the fact that she's obviously moved on. Certainly not Danny, because it has nothing to do with him. It's not his business and even if it were he wouldn't care because Martin's just someone he works with, nothing more.

One of these days, Danny might even start believing that.

It takes all his effort to shake the thought aside, breathing deep when he finally makes it outside and the slight chill in the air should be enough to dissipate his… what? Anger? Disappointment? Jealousy?

Danny can't help but laugh at the last thought, because he doesn't do jealousy. Certainly not where Martin's concerned; he got over Martin years ago.

He still doesn't know where he's going when he reaches the sidewalk outside the pub. He briefly considers finding his car and heading home, because at least then he might be able to get some sleep. Except he doesn't want to go home, because he knows going home will mean countless hours spent staring up at his ceiling and, really, what he wants to do is find some way to burn off the excess energy that's been building pretty much from the moment their suspect opened fire.

Even now he can't help but remember how close they'd come to dying. Too close, and Danny can't remember the last time he'd actually seen his life flash before his eyes. Even the Adisa hit didn't do it; the moment passing so quickly that panic was pretty much the only thought Danny was capable of registering.

This, this was different. This was hours spent running through dark, deserted hallways, inching around corners with weapons drawn and by the time Danny spotted their suspect, he was already firing.

Bullets blazing through the air and Danny had half a second to contemplate the sum existence of his life before hitting the ground. Another half a second to frantically scream out Martin's name before eerie, bone chilling silence replaced the chaotic sound of gunfire.

He tells himself, not for the first time, that they came out unscathed, that their suspect is in custody, so really, that should count for a good day.

In fact, he had considered this a good day. Right up until the moment he sat down at the table, watching Martin cast Sam an almost mournful glance before sinking into his silence and booze and the entire display left Danny with little doubt concerning who flashed through Martin's mind during their encounter.

"Fuck," Danny hears himself whisper and he's starting to think that he's not nearly as over Martin as he thought he was.

It would almost be pathetic, if Danny wasn't used to it. If he wasn't used to wanting things he couldn't have and, before he can stop himself, Danny's moving.

Heading toward the street and he doesn't quite make it halfway when he hears shuffling footsteps behind him.

For a moment, he thinks it might actually be Martin. It's not, and Danny swallows his disappointment when he turns to find Vivian watching him curiously.

"Are you okay?" she asks, head tilting and Danny knows she can read every thing that's going on in his head.

"It's been a long day," Danny says, hoping Vivian doesn't press, because the last thing he wants to do is confess to her what has long been his darkest secret.

"You sure?" Vivian asks, not asking for particulars and Danny smiles something close to relief.

Nods and when Vivian shakes her head, Danny knows she'll let it slide.

It takes all his effort not to sigh in relief, instead offering to hail Vivian a cab. She nods her agreement and Danny smiles a second time, stepping up to the street corner to raise his hand. It takes next to no time, a sea of yellow stretched out before him and Danny's barely taken a breath by the time one of the cabs pulls up in front of him.

He opens the door wide, ushering Vivian inside and once again telling her that he's fine before saying goodnight. He doesn't move from his spot on the sidewalk, watching as the cab disappears around the corner, offering a half wave to Vivian's retreating head and when Danny finally lets his hand fall back to his side, he still hasn't decided what to do with himself.

He isn't given the chance to decide this time either, the door to the pub opening mere moments after Vivian's gone and Danny hears the unmistakable sound of Sam's laugh. He's half terrified to turn around, worried that he'll find Martin at her side and he's already once had to endure watching Martin go home with her. That was more than enough and the last thing Danny wants is a repeat performance.

He steals his breath, turning almost in slow motion and, before he can stop himself, he's grinning at the sight of Jack standing frozen next to Sam just outside the doors.

They're watching him, but Danny can't tell if they're just worried about his earlier vanishing trick, or worried that he's seen them together. Either way, Danny lets his grin dim to smile, hoping to soothe either worry before the moment is replaced by awkward tension.

"I just put Vivian in a cab. You guys want me to hail you one too?" he asks, letting his smile remain neutral, despite the sudden urge to smirk.

"Actually, I think I might walk," Sam says, and Danny nods, not bothering to comment when Jack offers to walk her home.

Sam hesitates for the briefest of moments before nodding her agreement and then they're walking away, leaving Danny alone with the knowledge that the only person left inside is Martin.

Danny doesn't bother pretending that he's not waiting.

He moves back up to the building, leaning on a side wall and, for the first time in his life, Danny wishes he smoked, just so that he'd have something to do to fill the time.

Seconds bleed into minutes, minutes blending into the next and every time the door opens, Danny feels himself tense. Every time it's not Martin, he forces himself to relax until, eventually, the door opens, Martin stepping outside, pausing in the doorway to lean his head back, close his eyes and breathe deep.

Danny doesn't wait for Martin to notice him.

"You need a ride?" he asks and Martin actually jumps.

"Fuck," Martin curses and Danny can't help but smirk. "I thought you'd left already," Martin comments, regaining his composure, staring at Danny like he's still not quite sure where Danny came from.

Danny shakes his head before responding. "I just needed some air. I was going to head back in, but apparently my leaving broke up the party. I can't say I'm surprised," he says, resisting the sudden urge to point out that Sam and Jack left together. Besides, he's fairly certain Martin knows.

Martin laughs at his comment, shaking his head softly before stepping forward, not quite close enough to violate Danny's personal space, but closer than Danny can remember Martin standing in what now seems like an eternity.

"A ride would be nice," Martin says, still staring like he's trying to figure Danny out and Danny nods once before turning and heading off in the direction of his car.

It's not far, parked just around the corner and Danny doesn't glance back to see if Martin's following. Eventually Martin falls into step beside him, the silence heavy between them, but before Danny can figure out what to say, they reach the car and Danny occupies himself by unlocking the doors.

"You know where I live, right?" Martin asks as he slides into the passenger side, stretching briefly before reaching for his seatbelt.

"Yeah," Danny answers, not explaining how he knows. He's never actually been to Martin's apartment.

Fortunately, Martin doesn't ask, content to lapse back into silence as Danny starts the car, puts it in drive and pulls out onto the street.

The traffic is light this late, so the trip is made in a relatively short period of time. Danny still hasn't said anything, alternating between staring out the front windshield and sneaking the occasional glance in Martin's direction. Martin's not really paying attention, head resting against the seat, eyes once again closed and he looks more relaxed than he has all night.

Way too soon they're pulling up in front of Martin's building and Danny's suddenly struck with the knowledge that he doesn't really want to let Martin get out of the car.

He's not even sure what he wants, except that he's enjoying Martin's company, despite the fact that they haven't said two words to each other. Enjoying just sitting in companionable silence and Danny chastises himself for once again letting Martin get under his skin.

For once again thinking in terms of maybes and ifs and Danny's half tempted to say something. Just ask because it's the not knowing that's driving him crazy.

He doesn't get the chance, Martin leaning for the door and the moment vanishes just as quickly as it arrived. The awkward tension is back and Danny bites his lip to keep from speaking, frowning slightly when Martin hesitates and glances over his shoulder.

Before Danny can ask, Martin's speaking.

"You want to come up?"

It's the last thing Danny expected Martin to say. The last thing Danny ever imagined happening (and he's always held the opinion that his imagination is more than just a little overactive). The last thing Danny knows how to respond to so he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"You're drunk."

The words are colder than he intended, almost accusing and Martin actually flinches, shaking his head a second later and then he's climbing out of the car, leaving Danny wanting to kick himself for opening his mouth.

Martin pauses the second he's outside, door still wide open and he bends down, catching Danny's eye before speaking.

"Actually, I'm not," Martin says, not waiting for a response before slamming the door shut and all Danny can do is watch as he walks away, disappearing through the front doors of his building.

~*~

Martin wishes, not for the first time this evening, that he was drunk.

Because at least then he'd have an excuse. Something to fall back on. Something to excuse his behaviour and something to offer up tomorrow when Danny eventually gets around to asking him about that moment in the car.

He'd been so certain. So absolutely sure that the looks that Danny kept casting in his direction had meant something. Now, Martin doesn't even know what he wanted them to mean. At the time he'd wanted them to mean that they were on the same page, that Martin wasn't just the object of Danny's scrutiny. That Martin wasn't just the object of Danny's concern and Martin sighs before digging his keys out of his pocket, sliding them into the lock and letting himself into his apartment.

He leaves the lights off, mostly because he can't be bothered turning them on, but also because he's fairly certain light would only accentuate the headache that's been forming pretty much since he got out of Danny's car.

Navigating his hall in the dark proves to be more difficult than Martin imagined, though, and twice he bumps into something. It's ridiculous, really, because he's lived here the entire time he's been in New York, so, logically, he should know the layout of his apartment by now.

Apparently, he doesn't, and by the time Martin makes it into the bedroom, both his shin and his hip are well on their way to being bruised. He almost likes the pain, though, because it distracts from his headache and Martin quickly strips, letting his clothes pool on the floor before sliding into bed.

He's still keyed up. Still tense from the day and, when he closes his eyes, all he can see is Danny. All he can recall is the brief flash of terror in Danny's eyes before Danny was falling and, at that moment, Martin was certain Danny had been hit. Certain that Danny was going to die, right there in front of him and, if it weren't for Danny screaming his name, Martin probably wouldn't have gotten down fast enough to avoid the bullet that was meant for him.

Martin opens his eyes against the image, wishing for what feels like the tenth time tonight that he'd finished that last drink. Wishing that he'd thought to stock his cupboards with booze, because then he could get up and have a drink and at this rate he's going to be joining Danny in those AA meetings of his.

Martin can't help but chuckle at the thought.

Pictures himself showing up, the surprise in Danny's eyes as Martin stands at the front of the room and it probably shouldn't be funny, but it is.

Hilarious, in fact, and Martin shifts, letting the coolness of the sheets register against his skin before realizing that there are other ways to blow off steam.

Far more pleasant and far less destructive ways and Martin shifts a second time, letting his hand dip down past his boxers, wrapping his fingers around his flaccid cock and Martin keeps his eyes open as he strokes himself to hardness.

It's not nearly as good as sex and Martin can't help but wonder if he really just invited Danny up. If it had happened at all, because the entire night feels like a dream and, before he can stop himself, Martin's imagining Danny's hand in place of his.

Instantly he's hard, almost painfully so and Martin once again finds himself wondering just what would have happened if Danny had agreed. Wondering whether he even would have been able to go through with it, because even though he's been thinking about it pretty much from the moment he crawled across the floor to find Danny alive, it's still Danny and Martin's spent the better part of his time in New York convincing himself that he didn't want Danny.

Except he knows now that he does, that he probably has for a while and Martin's suddenly forced to question just how long he's been harbouring a crush on Danny. Too long, he imagines, because this isn't the first time he's fantasized about Danny while jerking off and Martin feels himself flush scarlet red.

It doesn't stop him from shifting again, stopping long enough to slide his boxers down his hips until they too pool on the floor and Martin reaches into his bedside drawer for a bottle of lube he hasn't used in months.

It still works, though, leaving his hand slick and, this time, when Martin wraps his fingers around his base, he doesn't even bother pretending that he's not thinking about Danny.

He thinks about Danny's hands and Danny's tongue. Thinks about Danny's breath, hot against his skin. Thinks about Danny talking, words low and whispered in Martin's ear and Martin shivers before sliding his hand up, letting his thumb brush against his head before sliding his hand back down.

He wonders if Danny's ever thought about him while doing this. If Danny's at home right now, hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking and moaning Martin's name and Martin lets his hand fall down to cup his balls.

He imagines Danny's probably a talker. That Danny probably even reverts to Spanish in the heat of the moment and suddenly Danny's beside him, saying things Martin knows he'll never fully understand and Martin's fingers trail back, pushing hard against the soft expanse of skin just under his sack.

He lets his fingers slide even further back, pad of his index finger brushing against his hole and Martin presses hard, applying just enough pressure for the digit to slip inside, pushing past the first knuckle and…

Someone's knocking on his door.

Danny vanishes and suddenly Martin's alone, finger half buried in his ass, free hand toying with his nipple and Martin curses before pulling his hand free, wiping off the lube on sheets Martin was already planning to change come morning.

He's tempted to answer the door naked, just because he knows who's on the other side (and if it's not Danny, Martin fully intends to commit homicide). He settles on slipping back into his discarded boxers, ignoring the fact that his erection tents the fabric somewhat perversely before leaving the room, heading toward the door and, if Danny notices, it's his own fault for not coming up earlier.

It's not until he reaches the door that Martin actually pauses long enough to question what he's doing. Doubt flickers through his mind, but it doesn't stop him from opening the door, not bothering to hide behind it and whatever Danny was going to say vanishes to an open mouth and wide eyes.

"Change your mind?" Martin asks, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing Danny somewhat coldly.

"Am I interrupting something?" Danny asks after a moment, and Martin's almost disappointed that he didn't spend more time stumbling for words.

"You know exactly what you're interrupting," Martin answers, triumph surging through his chest when Danny's mouth once again falls open.

It lasts only a moment, and then Danny's smirking, eyebrow arched in a manner that reminds Martin of challenge and the last thing Martin wants to do is let Danny win.

He's been letting Danny win pretty much from the moment he first met Danny and, after today, Martin's done with this game Danny seems so fond of playing.

"And for the record, I'm still not drunk," Martin says, leaving the door open and heading back toward the bedroom.

He doesn't know if Danny intends to follow, but he's fairly certain he's made it clear that he wants Danny to. That he wants Danny in his bed because Danny almost fucking died today and he's sick of pretending that doesn't bother him.

Sick of pretending that he doesn't care, because he does, more than he probably should and when Martin hears the front door shut, he pauses just long enough to listen for Danny's footsteps.

Relief hits him harder than he expected when he hears them, moving almost lazily and Martin opens the bedroom door, glances once at his unmade bed before stopping, turning to stand in the doorway and when Danny finally shows up in front of him, Martin's even stopped caring about letting Danny win.

"Today was stupid," he says, because he's been thinking it ever since Danny dashed out of the car, running after their suspect without even bothering to call for backup and if he'd only stopped long enough to remember procedure, Martin wouldn't have had to endure watching Danny dodge bullets.

"Well, I've never really been a fan of going out after work for drinks, but it wasn't that bad," Danny answers, tone light and teasing and he's eyeing Martin's chest like Martin's the best thing he's seen all day.

"You know what I mean," Martin practically growls, wanting nothing more than to grab Danny by the shoulders and shake him until he promises never to put his life on the line again.

"Yeah, I do, and I'm not sorry."

Nothing else, just a smug smile and Martin's moving before he can stop himself, stepping forward and Danny flinches like he's honestly expecting Martin's fist rather than his lips.

He grunts when Martin does make contact and Martin revels in the knowledge that he's capable of catching Danny off guard. Capable of surprising Danny, because it should be impossible. Should be, but apparently isn't and it takes Danny several moments to start moving, kissing Martin back like he thinks Martin might be right and really is sorry.

Martin's half tempted to pull back and gloat.

He doesn't. Doesn't do anything except clutch at the fabric of Danny's shirtsleeves, pulling Danny impossibly close until there's nothing left between them and Martin's suddenly very much aware of how few clothes he's wearing. Of how many clothes Danny is wearing.

It takes every inch of willpower to pull back, Martin's hands shaking slightly as he pulls at Danny's shirt, eventually giving up and practically cursing off like the very word can rid Martin of the barrier between them.

Danny actually has the nerve to laugh, like Martin's his own personal source of amusement, but he pulls the shirt up and over his head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor, alongside Martin's clothes from earlier and Martin instantly reaches for Danny's belt.

"Martin, Martin…"

He knows Danny's talking. Knows Danny's trying to get his attention, but Martin's still stuck on how to work the clasp on Danny's pants. And obviously they were designed by a woman, because no man would ever make a pair of pants this difficult to remove.

"Let me," Danny says this time, hands pushing aside Martin's and all Martin can do is nod numbly and wonder exactly what it would take to make Danny lose control.

He's only dimly aware that it's usually him holding on to control.

That it should be Danny trying to undo a pair of pants and Martin glances up, makes eye contact and suddenly realizes just how out of control Danny actually is. Martin has half a second to be impressed before Danny's moving forward, reclaiming Martin's lips and Martin actually feels Danny's pants falling down to pool around his ankles.

It's hotter than he was expecting, the first press of skin to skin and Martin moans, low and hoarse and, later, he'll remember to be embarrassed by it, but right now all he really wants is Danny in his bed. Danny beneath him, arching up into him. Danny's hands and Danny's tongue and Danny's voice and Martin growls before swinging them around, pushing Danny until his knees hit the back of the bed and then they're falling and better, so much better.

Danny looks so much better on his back, skin flushed in a way Martin wouldn't have ever imagined possible, pupils dilated, his usual mess of hair even more erratic and Martin doesn't know where to start.

He settles on pressing his face into Danny's neck, breathing deep and taking in the scent of musk and Danny and residual cologne. It's intoxicating, so purely male and so purely Danny and Martin has half a second to register that he hasn't done this since college. And then Danny's arching up against him, legs wrapping around Martin's waist to pull him close, pressing their boxer-covered erections together and Martin actually hisses at the contact.

Finds himself thrusting down, rocking ever so slightly and it takes him a moment to realize the mewing sounds are coming from Danny. Danny, who's not talking and Martin's pretty sure he needs to do something to change that, so he opens his mouth, breathing hot against Danny's skin and letting his tongue dip out to trace patterns in the hollow of Danny's throat.

And now Danny's whispering, hands clutching Martin's shoulder, squeezing hard enough to leave marks, but Martin doesn't care. He trails his tongue down, marking a path to each of Danny's nipples, pausing only long enough to nip at each before he's seeking lower, skirting around Danny's belly button and when he reaches the waistband of Danny's boxers, Danny freezes and pushes Martin away.

The moment is so painfully disappointing that Martin actually considers screaming. Actually considers walking out and leaving Danny in his house alone, but then Danny's speaking, the words almost whispered and it takes Martin a moment to process what he's asking.

"Tell me I'm not your second choice tonight."

And suddenly it all makes sense. All the dark looks and the moment at the bar and Martin has no idea what to say. No idea how long Danny's been living with Sam's shadow and he's overcome with mirror emotions of guilt and relief.

"No. God, no," Martin finally manages to answer, holding Danny's gaze and trying to convey everything he's feeling because he's fairly certain Danny won't believe him otherwise.

"Okay," Danny whispers, eyes closing and, for a fraction of a second, Martin forgets how to breathe.

Forgets how to pretty much do anything until Danny's pulling him back down, fingers tracing across Martin's shoulder blades and Martin smiles before leaning forward and pressing their lips together.

He's not certain if it was the conversation, or the look that changed the mood, but gone is the frantic Danny almost died that led Martin to finally cross the line between them. It's replaced by something softer, something even more desperate (if possible and Martin still can't wrap his head around that). Something that feels more real than anything he can ever remember feeling and it takes Martin a moment to realize Danny's tugging on his underwear.

Struggling in vain, never once breaking the kiss and Martin pulls back, pushing up long enough to get them off, Danny's following a moment behind and, this time, when he settles back down, their erections press together, skin on skin and Martin's half afraid he might come from the sensation alone.

He's beyond caring, though, rocking hard against the warmth beneath him, earning a choked off moan and an echoing thrust and suddenly Danny's legs are once again wrapped around his waist. It brings them even closer, so close that Martin's starting to not be able to distinguish where he begins and Danny ends. So close that all he can feel is Danny. All he can smell is Danny. All he can taste is Danny and Martin momentarily registers the thought that this must be what it feels like to drown in Danny.

"Martin… Fuck, Martin."

"Nnn."

He's rather proud of himself for being able to articulate anything at this point, his entire being focused on the rocking of his hips, the feel of Danny beneath him and, apparently, Danny precomes, because the space between them is damp, slippery and warm and Martin's starting to never want this to end.

"Martin, seriously. I'm going to come if we don't…"

And oh. Oh.

"Oh," Martin gets out, registering just how quickly this is going to be over if he doesn't stop.

It still takes pretty much every last ounce of strength he has to pull back, strings of precome caught between them and Martin doesn't think before shifting down, settling above Danny's crotch, tongue darting out to lap at Danny's cock and Danny shakes somewhat violently beneath him.

"Martin."

This time Danny says his name like a warning, voice cracking and when Martin pulls back, glancing up to make eye contact, Danny's glaring at him.

"I want to fuck you," Martin says, not at all what he meant to say, but it's too late to take the words back and, besides, they're true.

"Fuck."

He's not sure if the word is permission, but Danny's legs splay open, knees coming up and Martin assumes that's what Danny meant. It's good enough for him, anyway, so Martin shifts forward, fumbling for a moment in his bedside drawer for condoms he knows he owns.

He can't remember the last time he used those either, but they're there, right next to the lube he was using earlier, so Martin grabs both before settling once again between Danny's legs.

His fingers shake as he unrolls the condom over his length, his entire body humming and Martin knows he's not going to last long. In fact, he's starting to doubt he's even going to make it inside and Martin squeezes his base, hard, because the last thing he wants to do is have bad sex with Danny Taylor just because he can't keep his hormones in check.

He waits until he's certain he's not going to come at the first feel of Danny surrounding him before pouring some of the lube into his hand, running wet fingers over his head and down his length before reaching for Danny.

Danny's watching him, eyes still dark and Martin doesn't miss the blatant lust that's written across his face. It almost undoes the careful work Martin just did, so he closes his eyes, reaching between Danny's legs, letting his fingers trail past his balls, through his crack until Martin's circling Danny's hole.

It takes him a moment to realize Danny's speaking. That Danny has been speaking the entire time and Martin once again makes eye contact, waiting for Danny to focus on him before pressing two fingers inside, hard enough that Danny actually arches back, eyes closing and he cries out something that sounds suspiciously like Spanish. Martin grins at the knowledge that he was right.

He waits until Danny stops fighting him before moving, sliding his fingers in and out and in and out until Danny finally opens his eyes, glaring once again.

"Would you just fuck me already?" Danny growls, tone almost hostile and Martin shivers at the dark expression on Danny's face.

He pulls his fingers free, smirking at Danny's whimpered sigh before positioning himself at Danny's opening, waiting until Danny's glare returns before pushing inside, burying himself deep in one long, fluid thrust.

Heat is pretty much the only thing his brain registers. Then tight and Martin groans, remaining very still while Danny shifts beneath him, trying to get that much closer and when Danny hisses out move, Martin starts moving, rocking until he gains control of his body, then pulling out almost all the way before sliding right back in again. Out and in and out and in and Danny's meeting him stroke for stroke. Thrusting up each time Martin thrusts in and falling back each time Martin pulls out.

It's almost enough to send Martin over the edge, but Danny hasn't come yet and the last thing Martin wants to do is come before Danny does. And maybe that's a sign that he actually does like Danny's game. Or maybe it's just a by-product of the competition that always seems to exist between them. Either way, Martin finds himself smiling, face betraying how dangerously close he is to losing control as he reaches for Danny's cock, sliding still slippery fingers around Danny's length.

The lube mixes with Danny's precome, allowing Martin's fingers to glide from base to tip, tip to base and occasionally, Martin pauses to circle the top of Danny's head. And he can tell Danny's close now, almost as close as he is, so Martin squeezes, presses his thumb hard against the slit in Danny's head, scraping lightly with his nail and Danny tenses.

Shudders just a little bit before arching back, crying out something Martin can't understand before jerking forward into Martin's hand, coming hard through Martin's fingers, come coating his stomach and the sight is enough to send Martin over the edge.

He thrusts once, once more before coming, his entire body shaking, stars dancing behind his eyes and by the time he's done, he's slightly worried that he might never come again.

Not that it matters, because as soon as he stops shaking, his body shuts down, his mind going blank, darkness rushing in from all corners and, later, Martin would marvel at the fact that, for the first time in his life, he actually passed out after an orgasm.

~*~

He still doesn't know what possessed him to turn around and come back. He was halfway home when he changed his mind, making a u-turn right there in the middle of the street and, before he could think things through, he found himself standing in front of Martin's door, hand poised to knock.

In hindsight, he's actually rather glad he did change his mind, because, even though Martin's still unconscious next to him (and Danny's starting to wonder if he should start to get worried) he actually got to have Martin, and that's more than Danny ever really expected.

He hurts everywhere, his entire body aching and numb. It's a good ache, though, the kind that comes from a really long run or chasing down a suspect. The kind that comes from a night of intense sex and Danny smirks into the darkness before turning onto his side.

It took him several minutes to get Martin off of him. Several more to get them both cleaned up and Danny's starting to wonder just how long he's going to be forced to wait before Martin finally gets around to waking up.

Not long, he hopes, because he's fairly certain they should talk about this. Or maybe they shouldn't; he hasn't actually decided yet. Martin makes the decision for him, groaning and shifting and Danny tilts his head, waiting until a pair of blue eyes peek out from beneath long, dark lashes before smiling.

"Good morning."

And now Martin looks alarmed, like it might actually be morning and Danny laughs, low and amused and Martin chuckles before letting his head fall back down onto the pillow.

"How long was I out?" he asks, the words muffled and Danny contemplates lying to him.

"Only about fifteen minutes," he answers instead, the truth, because he really doesn't want to deal with Martin freaking out.

"Sorry," Martin says, sounding sincere and Danny's grin becomes a genuine smile.

"I'm sorry too," Danny answers, tone serious now and Martin twists to make eye contact.

"For what?" he asks, honestly curious and Danny can't help but wonder just how long Martin's been planning on inviting Danny into his bed.

"Running after that guy. Not calling for backup. Almost getting myself killed," Danny answers, because he is, mostly.

"No you're not," Martin practically snorts, shaking his head and Danny laughs a second time.

"Yeah, I'm not."

And okay, maybe he's not. He's sorry for making Martin worry. Sorry for almost getting Martin killed, but the rest led to here, and Danny wouldn't take that back for anything.


End file.
